


every rose has it's thorn || the story of Black Rose

by PumpkinKitten



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Female Reader, Implied/Referenced Torture, Murder, Named Reader, assassin reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-17 10:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14187336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinKitten/pseuds/PumpkinKitten
Summary: Deadly, beautiful and professional. You are a trained assassin, born and raised to kill. The best of the best, only following the orders of the one who pays you the most, and of course your own. When you were younger, your father taught you everything you need to know to become a professional killer like all of your ancestors. The name of the Morgenstern family is known for its profession and nobody dared to doubt that as long as your father lived. Since his death three years ago you have to prove that you should be feared just like him.





	1. at night, all cats are grey

**Author's Note:**

> I hope it doesn't bother anyone to have a given surname because I thought it would fit if the reader had a name with a family story and taste of something demonic and dark :D  
> Also I want to apologize for eventual mistakes because I'm not a native english person and trying very hard not to make any gramatical mistakes
> 
> Now let's get this story started.

**10:00 P.M.**

You heard the ringing of Big Ben and smiled slightly. Because you couldn't fit your pocket watch into the cheap and dirty dress you wore for work, you had to count on the bell in the north tower so you didn't miss your meeting. Since you were working at the small but important hotel in central London, you knew when the few guests would be coming back to their rooms after they had too many drinks and very important business meetings. You also knew that the other servants would be sleeping by now because you were on night shift since you started working as a maid which they were very thankful of. They trusted you because of your "cute smile" and "kind appearance". Fools. They were all fooled by your friendly little mask. Nobody of them assumed that you were only playing with them like you were playing chess. All of them were your little figures and you were about to make your last move to checkmate the white king.

Your white king was an important salesman who pissed your customer off pretty badly. He wanted to marry your customers's daughter, but your customer had other plans - so he had to get rid of him before his daughter could do something dumb and rebellious. His daughter kind of reminded you of yourself when you were younger. Once you were rebellious, too. This was until your father tied you to a tree in a stormy night and punched you with a bible before he let you stay outside until the morning. You still got a small scar on your cheek from the edge of the bible that reminded you of that day every time you saw it in the mirror. No, Stephen Morgenstern was not a loving father, he was more like a teacher. He never said that he loved you, his only daughter, and he told you that love was only a distraction.

With a quick shake of your head you brushed those memories off. You had to concentrate on your job now. About five minutes after you heard the ringing of the Big Ben you were able to hear some footsteps coming towards you. You were hiding in the room next to your victim's, waiting for him to stumble into his room.

 _Tap, tap. Tap, tap. Tap, tap. Tap, **crash**_.

He stopped next to the door of his hotel room and pushed the vase over so it fell down in the hallway, making a huge mess of shards, water and white roses. This was not planned, but you were going to to make the best out of the situation, so you stepped out of your hideout. "Oh dear. What happened, Mister Pomeroy? Are you _hurt_?", you said, faux-worried. Mister Pomeroy lifted his gaze from the shards on the ground and gave you a drunk smile. "I think it fell down by itself.", he answered you and giggled. You simply shook your head and took his key. "I'll have to clean this up now in the dark, but first I have to be sure that you are alright ."

"How sweet of you to insist on taking care of an old man.", Mister Pomeroy answered. You were able to hear his perverted grin in his voice and it made you shiver with disgust. Oh hell, you just wanted to get this done. Quickly.

Mister Pomeroy somehow managed to open his door and held it open to you like the gentleman he never was. You stepped in and the door was shut in the second you were inside the room. Your victim slowly walked to his bed and opened his tie as you turned around and smiled like he was the most attractive man you ever saw. He wasn't . "I think I should bring you to bed, what poor service would I offer if I wasn't able to make sure our guests are all satisfied?", you said in your most seductive voice and your hand slowly slid in the pocket of your dress. You grabbed the small bottle that was inside and placed yourself on Mister Pomeroy's lap. He stared at your breasts, which were directly in front of his face. The poor man was so distracted from your deep neckline, he did not notice the bottle in your hand or that you opened it. "I managed to steal whiskey from our private collection, do you want to taste it?", you whispered in his ear  and he put his head back and opened his mouth willingly.

The small bottle of poison was technically enough to kill three men but it was quicker with a higher dose. You had mixed some cheap whiskey with the belladonna extract so it would be hard to smell the poison. Slowly and with the first honest smile of the day you poured the liquid into Mister Pomeroys mouth. He swallowed it and began coughing only seconds after.

His grey eyes stared at you in the dimmed light of the few candles that were lit in the hotel room - they were filled with panic and fear. He seemed to realize that the loss of air was caused by the liquid he just swallowed. "You... YOU!", he coughed again, "You are this damn _witch_!"

You knew what he meant with 'this damn witch'. He meant all of the murders with belladonna poison, which was kind of your trademark. Afterwards you always took a small, but important thing from your victim and placed a single red rose on the dead body. You were a killer, but you did not want to be cruel or unrespectful.

Mister Pomeroys eyes were still fixed on you and you simply nodded while you were able to see the light in his eyes fade. Seconds later, he didn't breathe anymore. Your victim, Augustus Sean Pomeroy, was dead.

If he was a bit lighter you would not have needed so much time to prepare him. You laid him in his bed, re-did his tie and placed a rose on his chest, then you took his pocket watch. There was a small photography of him and his family in it, so you thought it would be "small but important". With a smile you whispered "ave atque value" - it meant "hail and farewell". You once thought this would fit because you did not know the people you murdered enough to find the right words.

After you cleaned up the mess in the hallway, you left the hotel, dressed in your simple brown cotton dress with the pocket watch in one pocket and a shoulder-length black wig. Nobody would have been able to tell that you were the youngest member of the Morgenstern family and the silent killer everybody just called" **Black Rose** " .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to my lovely beta-reader MidnightBlueMoon, who reads this stuff without being in the Black Butler Fandom :D


	2. little by little, piece by piece

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, another try to make a good story.
> 
> Enjoy :D

**??:?? P.M. **

You were standing in your garden, surrounded by dead plants and the light of the full moon. It was a cold night, but you weren't freezing even though the only thing you wore was a white nightgown. You took one step back on the frozen ground and tried to escape the shadow that was chasing you. It was moving slowly because it knew that it would get to you anyway, even if you tried to escape. The shadow was hiding in a bush, playing with the leaves so the last ones fell off. It played with you. The shadow wanted you to move before it made its next step. Like you were figures in a chess game. The shadow was the black queen and you were the white king. It was able to move in every direction as much as it wanted to and you were only able to make one step at a time. You were captured, like every one of your victim. Slowly, you stepped to the left and hid behind the old tree. The shadow seemed to watch you and for a moment you even thought the bush laughed at you for being so predictable.

You closed your eyes and leaned back on the tree. It made you feel anxious to be so vulnerable and weak but you knew that the shadow was stronger than you anyway. You never saw it's face, you didn't even know if it had one, but it frightened you even though it never showed its face. It was coming closer and closer, chasing you like a snake was chasing a rabbit: patient, focused and silently.

You kept your eyes shut as you felt a cold flow of air on your cheek. Like the shadow brushed over it with its invisible hand. You took a deep breath and knew it was over. The shadow won. Checkmate. You lost. As you were breathing out, you first felt nothing, but then the shadow rushed into your body and it felt like someone pushed shards of ice into your body and into your soul. The feeling was so overwhelming, you only stood there and screamed, but nobody seemed to hear you.

When you woke up, you were still screaming. The cold feeling lasted a few minutes and you were trying to catch your breath while your heart was racing. Your face felt wet like you had been crying and the bedsheets were lying on the ground. It was only a nightmare, you were still alive. After a few minutes, your pulse and your breathing were back to normal, but the feeling of being chased by a shadow still lasted

** 08:30 A.M. **

After your nightmare you washed yourself and got dressed up in a kind of eccentric black dress. It got a black corset and a skirt which was longer in the back than it was in the front. Your black boots were knee-high and the thin heels were making a unique sound as you walked into the café. Four days ago you successfully killed Mister Pomeroy and now it was time to get payed. Your customer wanted to meet at 8:30 A.M. at desk 5 in the "la lune" café.

A few locks of your (h/c) hair got loose of your updone hair and fell on your shoulders so they lightly brushed them as you walked. For a moment everybody in the small café seemed to freeze and looked at you but then the chatting went on and nobody looked at you anymore. Nobody except for one person. A rather ordinary looking man with round glasses and a beige trenchcoat looked at you and you looked at the sign on the table he was sitting at. Table number five. This was the man who was supposed to give you your well-earned money. Your smile deepened as you sat down in the empty chair in front of him. "What a wonderful day. The sun shines, the people are coming out of their houses and it smells like _roses_.", you said instead of greeting him like every normal person would. He looked at you for a moment and nodded. "Indeed, it is a nice day.", he said with no emotions in his voice and took a last sip of his tea. On the table was lying the newest edition of The Times with the big headline " _Black Rose strikes again_ " and a picture of the peacefully looking Mister Pomeroy at its front. The newspaper was folded in the middle and handed to you by your nameless counterpart. "You should read the cover story. Really interesting."

The man stood up from his chair and nodded in your direction. "Goodbye, Miss Morgenstern", he said rather quietly so only you were able to hear it. "Goodbye", you answered as you took the envelope out of the newspaper. It felt heavy and you smiled over your reward as you slid it into the pocket of your small purse. Now you got time to read the newspaper and drink a nice cup of tea before you left.

About an hour passed before you finally left the café. You took all the time you wanted to either drink tea and read or talk to the waitresses. They seemed nice and you had plenty of time left because there was no new customer. You took the newspaper as you stood up and folded it in the middle like before, then you left the café with a slight smile on your lips. It was still sunny and not as cold as a few days ago which was like a little miracle in London, where it was usually pretty foggy.

You walked along the street where the hotel, that you recently worked at, was. Outside there were standing three men, a child and Mrs. Hoover, who owned the hotel. Curiously you continued walking by but slowed down a bit.

"...so I repeat: the only person who could have been with him at this time, is a french woman with black hair who worked as a maid at your place but is missing now?", one of the men said and looked at his notes. Mrs. Hoover nodded and leaned against the wall. "She was such a good girl, maybe she got killed, too? I would not expect her to do such a bad thing.", she mumbled as the kid stared at her with his cold, blue eye. "Don't underestimate anyone. The ones that look the most innocent are the cruelest", he hissed at her, taking a quick look at the scary, black-haired man next to him. They looked somehow familiar to you but you weren't able to tell why. The man said nothing and looked at you. Just for a moment his red eyes met your (e/c) ones. It felt like the shadow of your dream crawled under your skin and made you shiver. In this short moment you felt cold, like his eyes were staring directly at your soul, and you felt strangely _exposed_.

The man with the notes seemed to notice that the attention of the rather scary looking guy was focused on something behind him and turned around. In the second he looked at you, you knew him. It was Inspector Abberline from Scotland Yard. You had met him a few times before because like most people he knew the story of your family, but nobody was ever able to bring on the necessary evidence that you all were killers. "Miss Morgenstern. It's a pleasure to meet you here - what a lucky coincidence", he said and closed his notes. You took a quick look at Mrs. Hoover, but she was talking to his colleague, so she didn't notice you. Instead of her the two unknown figures had noticed you and now stared at you. "The pleasure is all mine, Inspector Abberline. Another murder, I assume?", you answered him and smiled innocently.

Inspector Abberline looked not very pleased at you and seemingly wanted to ask you how in hell you knew about it but then he noticed the newspaper in your hand with a photograph of the case on it. Then he found something else to criticise. " _Abber_ line. It's _Aberline_ for Christ's sake!."

You knew that his name was Abberline but you liked to tease him a bit. After losing his temper for a moment, he took a deep breath. "Unfortunately yes, my dear. You got nothing to do with it?", he asked more like a rethorical question than a real one. He seemed to assume that you had to do something with it but you would rather strip from your dress and walk along the street naked than give him an honest answer on this question. "Of course not.", you said, simulated shocked of the offensive question. You even gasped to make your little act perfect. Abberline just sighed subdued. It was pointless and he knew it. "That's it for today. I'm sorry that I worried you, Miss Morgenstern and I'm sorry that you couldn't get any further informations on the case Earl Phantomhive.", he said in a rather dulled tone before he left.

Earl Phantomhive? So this boy was the " _Guard Dog_ "? Abberline clearly spoke to him because the scary guy from earlier now kneeled on the ground in front of a cat and fondled it. Really strange. So you met the Inspector and covered up your tracks a little bit more and you now knew what this mysterious Earl Phantomhive looked like.

"So you are the young Earl?", you asked the boy in front of you and eyed him up and down. He raised his left eyebrow and remained silent until you reached out your hand. "(y/n) Morgenstern. It's a pleasure to meet you." He took your hand and shook it for a moment. "Nice to meet you, too. Sebastian? If you could let go of this damn cat... I would be ready to go. Now." His tone was sharp and determinant and the much older guy called Sebastian sighed and let the cat go. "Yes, young master.", he answered with a small bow. "Have a nice day, Miss Morgenstern." His master started walking the opposite direction of the street as he turned around and looked at you one last time with his red eyes. For a moment you even thought they were cat-like slits but when you blinked, they were back to normal. Maybe it was the sun. You shook your head and walked away from the hotel, back to your flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank MidnightBlueMoon again for beta-reading the whole thing <3


	3. seeking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a bit more yesterday after work and really started to struggle with your potential customers :D

Your family never was "close" to the church or what went on in it, so you never went to church as a kid. You were always one of the few people who wandered along the streets on Sunday when everybody else was sitting on a hard wooden bench, listening to the things God wanted them to hear. Pathetic. This whole religious stuff was just stupid in your eyes. You never believed in any of these things, not in _demons_ and not in _angels_ . You believed in yourself because if _God_ or any of those creatures really existed, they would at least have shown themselves. It was a tradition in your family to take part in a ritual so your soul would be sacrificed to a demon when you die. That stupid ritual was the reason for the pentagram on your back and even then nothing happened. If this bloody demon really cared for the soul he got sacrificed, he would at least have shown up or left a message but there was nothing but a nasty, scarred pentagram and a family of pathetic people who thought that demons existed. You wouldn't believe in this whole hocus-pocus until the day it would become reality. It would be the day on which the shadow of your dreams shows its face.

  
**11:00 A.M.**

  
  
Like every Sunday you walked along the street. Unlike the last days, the weather was bad again. It was cold so you needed a coat, and when you left the house it started to rain. The rain went on and you held your black umbrella over your head as you walked along the pavement next to the Hyde Park. A few cabs passed your way and every time they did, your dress got a little bit wetter. It was a good choice to wear the old and simple black dress, you thought to yourself. If you wore the more extravagant dress with the corset it would have been ruined by the dirt that came along with the water from the street.  
  
You walked on and sat down on a relatively dry bench, so you could rest for a moment. The umbrella was still placed over you and your boots were surprisingly dry inside. On the outside, they were wet and dirty so you knew you would have to clean them as soon as you got home again. As you sat on the bench, you used the time to watch the people passing by. It was something you often did, because you wanted to learn something about them. It was your goal to read them just like you read books. You often just sat somewhere and watched the people surrounding you, trying to predict what the strangers would do next. Maybe this habit came along with your profession because at work you did the same: sit and watch. Seemingly, nobody wanted someone else to die at the moment or else they would have contacted you. What a pity. You quickly became bored of too much free time, so you would have welcomed a new victim very much.  
  
When you sat on that bench, something came back to your mind: Your dreams or your nightmares, to be precise. This cold shadow that kept creeping up in them. Also your past. You had a bad feeling about the nightmares, what of course was kind of normal. Who wouldn't if they woke up screeming at least once or twice a week? Sometimes you refused to sleep because you didn't want your nightmares to make your sleep bad. You tried your best to keep the signs of insomnia covered up, so nobody would doubt to question your profession. Thanks to your name and your insane family you had a reputation to loose. One mistake could cost you everything, especially as a woman. You sighed and silently wished that your nightmares would disappear magically so you could at least sleep peacefully as your victims but they sure wouldn't.  
  
It soon stopped raining and you stood up from the bench. You fished your pocket watch out of your handbag and looked at it, suprised that it was later than you thought. "Let's make some money, little girl.", you muttered to yourself and walked back to your flat. Your father used to say this to you when you were little and he was going to attempt a new 'job', so you kind of took over this habit and said this to yourself, every time you did your circular route around your "information spots" in London.

  
  
**06:25 P.M.**

  
  
With your dried umbrella in your hand you walked down the street to your favourite pub, which unfortunately was rather far away from your home and the final destination of your route. Your feet hurt and nobody had known about a suitable job for you, so you were a bit frustrated. Sometimes you weren't very lucky, even though you basically were the best one in the business of making people go silent forever.  
  
You sat on the barstool next to the wall and leaned your umbrella against it, ordering a glass of whiskey as you walked by. Paul, who was working at this place every night, just waved at you so you knew he understood. It was kind of your ritual: Every time you walked into this bar you sat on the same barstool and ordered the same whiskey from the same guy, no matter how your mood was. Paul was a middle-aged man who used to work as a fisherman until he discovered his passion for cooking. This man made the best fish and chips you could imagine and also knew the best jobs the underground had to offer. He was truely a treasure to you and kind of like a crazy uncle to you.  
  
"Aye missy, ya came here pretty late today. Anythin' special happened?", you heard Paul scream over the table as an unknown man, who looked like one of the fishermen, handed you your drink. Paul had just reached it out in your direction and they knew what to do. " _The Founders Arms_ " was one of the few places you kind of felt like home. "I was looking for a job but there weren't any.", you told Paul right away, "And I overslept today so I went out an hour later than usual." Paul looked at you and smiled. Of course your crazy uncle had a job for you to offer, you could tell by his smile. "I heard about somethin' today, if you're interested. Not really a big deal but better than nothin', huh?"  
  
You took a sip from your whiskey and leaned yourself against the bar. He was right. Not big was at least better than nothing. "I'm listening.", you simply answered, interested in what he had to say. "Do you know this friendly old man who has this bakery opposite to this creepy funeral parlour? He's got a daughter who wants to inherit the bakery as soon as possible because her father seems to dislike her more and more so she's anxious that she might won't get the bakery after his death.", Paul told you while he was serving some more drinks. It really was not really big but you haven't had anything better to do. "Tell her I'll do it.", you mumbled into your glass and drained it in one sip.  
  
This basically was how you got your orders: You walked through London, met with your underworld contacts and mostly got the orders to kill somebody. Sometimes you got other requests that required your skills but you didn't want to do most of them. You were a killer, not a dog who looked after people and protected them in the case of an attack, so protecting some uninteresting people was not worth your precious time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The same procedure as last chapter: A huge thank you to MidnightBlueMoon for beta-reading and correcting mistakes <3


	4. sugar, flour, coffins and regret

**** **2:27 A.M.**

 

A few days after Paul told you about this small job you were standing in front of the bakery, looking at your pocket watch, waiting for something to happen. You were standing in front of the bakery for hours the day before only to find out when the baker started to make bread. He was twenty minutes later than the day before. Maybe he died because of old age so you had less work? No, there he was. You saw the light of a candle through the small window and an old man walking into the bakery. He was slow which was absolutely perfect. Until this moment you had no idea how to get the poison into this poor man but since he was slow you could easily take a syringe and inject it this way. Of course you got a syringe in your handbag, next to a red rose and a pocket revolver you kept carrying with you just in case.

You took a deep breath of the cold night air and took the syringe out of your bag. After you made sure that it was ready, you went to the backdoor of the bakery and knocked lightly. First you thought that the man might did not hear you so you lifted your fist again but then he said that he would be there in a minute because he was not the youngest man around. For a moment you felt guilty. This was just a friendly old man who has not done anything wrong and you were about to kill him just because his grasping daughter told you to. You shook your head and almost imagined your father standing behind you, telling you that you were weak because you let your feelings get into your way. Feelings made you weak and distracted you from the principal task. You weren't there to make friends with the people, you were there to kill them so you could get money for it and suvive.

The sound of a door being opened interrupted your thoughts and you were looking into the face of a friendly old man. He was confused but smiled at you when he asked what you were up to. "I'm really sorry.", you said scarcely audible before you rammed the syringe into his neck. The man let out a cry but nobody was able to hear it because it was in the middle of the night. You injected the poison into his neck and looked into his light blue eyes as you did. He looked terrified and you were able to see some tears in the corners of his eyes but he smiled at you. It nearly broke your heart even if you tried to hide it. He didn't deserve it but yet you took his life. "No.", you whispered and took the syringe out of his neck, back into your pocket. The man slumped down against the wall and still looked at you while you were stepped back against the opposite wall of the narrow alley. 

You were not touched by the fate of your victims often but this was something different. The people you usually saw dieing in front of you were unfriendly, cruel, perverted, selfish or everything at once but this time it was a friendly man who did nothing wrong but opening the backdoor to a complete stranger. You looked down to your feet when you grabbed the rose in your handbag with your shaking hand and pulled it out gently. "A-Ave atque vale...", you mumbled when you laid the rose into his hands. You blew out the candle that was still burning and standing on a shelf next to the backdoor and then you closed the door. The baker leaned against a barrel and looked like he was sleeping with his eyes open.

In the complete darkness the cold wind that rushed through the alley felt two times colder than before and you kneeled down in front of the baker. His eyes looked grey in the darkness but you knew that they were blue. You reached out your still shaking hand and closed his eyes for the last time. "I'm not better than my victims.", you thought when you stood up and pulled your pocket watch out of the pocket of your coat again. 2:36 A.M. Time to get home. 

You put the watch back into your pocket and walked out the alley as you noticed the "creepy funeral parlour" Paul had talked about. In front of you there was a building that looked like nearly every building in London but next to the door, some coffins leaned against the wall. Above the door was a lopsided sign which said "Undertaker" and had a skull on top of the writing. Paul was right, it was creepy. You even got the strange feeling that the skull has watched you the whole time and stared you down as you looked at him or her. Actually it wasn't the skull who was watching you, it was someone else. The feeling of being watched was not as far-fetched as you first thought.

Shivering, you left the alley and wrapped yourself into your coat a little bit tighter. "Well well, what a beautiful morning ~", you heard a gravelly voice say and flinched instantly. You were looking around but you weren't able to see anybody so you slowly kept on walking. "I'm going mad.", you said and shook your head. Great, now you started hearing voices. "Are you, my dear?", the voice said and chuckled. Maybe the voice you heard was mad, too. "Why can't I see you?", you asked and stopped again. The voice started laughing. "You are joking, aren't you? Obviously you can't see me because it is _dark_!", the laughing voice answered you and one of the coffins sounded like it was moving. A moving coffin? What the hell? You had to leave this place immediately, you didn't even care if someone - or something - had seen you or not. As fast as you could, you ran away, not noticing, that you lost your pocket watch when you started running.

 

** 9:27 A.M. **

 

When you came home, you just had thrown yourself onto your bed and were asleep very fast. This job wrecked your nerves and you hated to admit it. You should not have those feelings of regret, you should not feel bad for this stranger you killed or be sad because he looked so innocent. You were not allowed to feel those things, but you did because you hid them too long. Sometimes, even the cold hearted killer got sentimental.

You finally woke up a few hours after your trip to the bakery and remembered the talking coffin first. Under normal conditions you would have eliminated every witness of your crime, but you were too scared and too mixed up to care about this. You just wanted to go home and sleep, but now you had to worry about the witness whose face you didn't even see. Maybe the one in the coffin hasn't seen your face either? No, you should not count on your luck. Every time you did before, nothing good has happened. So you had to go back to this funeral parlour at daytime and look into this coffin. You grunted into the pillow your face rested in. Clearly you had gone mad.

Since you were fully dressed when you went to sleep and your dress was not stained after all, you didn't have to dress yourself again. You made sure that your face did not look as pale and dead as the customers of the undertaker did and put on a fake smile while you hoped that the person in the coffin was still there and not able to remember your face or your voice.

You walked back to the street where the bakery and the funeral parlour were in and noticed the people who were pooling around the front door. Some of them were talking, some crying and some were just in shock. You were able to see the back of a man's head you knew very well and you knew that it was very suspicious that you showed up on the next crime scene of the Black Rose. Damn it, you had to disappear very quickly. You looked around and saw the open coffin which had talked to you earlier that day. Into that thing? No, everybody could see you going inside and struggling with it. You slowly walked by the pool of people and kept an eye on Inspector Abberline while you were heading to the funeral parlour. Finally, you were standing in front of the door and hoped that it was open . If not, you would really have to go into that coffin. You knocked hesitantly, but nobody answered, so you opened the squeaking door and went inside.

The room you were standing in was dark because there were no windows, and you flinched when the door was shut by itself. You looked around and weren't able to see anything but coffins and candles. "Hello? Is anyone here?", you asked and blinked, so your eyes could ajust to the sudden darkness. No answer - it seemed like you were alone. You really have been alone until you heard someone knocking against the door and turned around in panic. "Hello? Excuse me, it's Inspector Abberline from Scotland Yard", you heard Abberline's voice muffled through the door. Great, now you had no other option than hiding in a damn coffin.

You went to the coffin next to you and opened it. It was empty, at least you were lucky in this case. Inspector Abberline knocked again and you laid into the coffin, closing its lid as silently as possible afterwards. Then it was completely dark and silent. It was getting hot inside the coffin really fast and the only things you could hear was your racing heart and your own breathing. You thought that you heard footsteps but then you shook your head. No, whoever could have walked by would have answered you, when you asked if someone was there.

A second later you heard the squeaking of the door again. "Scotland Yard? Have I done something wrong? Any complaint of my _customers_?", you heard the voice from last night say and chuckle afterwards. To hide the suprised noise you made and the sound of your breathing you placed your hand on your mouth and nose. Inspector Abberline was silent for a moment but then went on: "Uh, no I just thought someone I know went in here. Would you mind if I take a quick look into your shop?"

So this was it. You would be caught by Scotland Yard in a coffin. It would be a great headline for The Times and a even greater shame for your family. The stranger giggled before he answered in a very dark and creepy tone: "If you dare to. I'll just sit here and drink tea." The thing that was placed on top of your coffin before was taken off and replaced by something that seemed even heavier. Was there somebody sitting on top of the coffin?

After you realized that you had held your breath, you started to breathe as silent as possible. The things you heard from outside the hot coffin were not loud, but you knew that Abberline was looking for you in the whole room. Everywhere, except the coffin you were in. You even started to thank the person who was sitting on top of the coffin. He - you assumed it was a man - seemed to be scary enough to make Inspector Abberline afraid. You tried to imagine the person who was sitting on top of you and your imagination got so scary, you better didn't want to know what the person really looked like.

"Have you noticed that the baker on the other side of the street was killed last night?", you heard Inspector Abberline say to the stranger, and he sounded like he was standing pretty close to the coffin. "I have noticed that he is dead." The answer sounded like he knew something but didn't want to cooperate with the Inspector. Of course he knew something, he saw you and even talked to you. "Well okay, that was all. Thank you, Undertaker.", Abberline said before you heard the door open and close again.

"Seems like he is in a hurry.", the person on top of the coffin said and you even thought that he started laughing. He seemed to stand up and you held your breath again. "Why don't you want to answer me darling? You even did it last night." He really talked to you. The man knew you were there. You shut your eyes when the lid of the coffin was lifted off it. "Pretending do be dead won't help you now", you heard his gravelly voice say near your face.

You took your hand from your mouth and slowly opened your eyes to look at him. In front of you was a tall man who was wearing a black robe with a grey scarf tied around it from his shoulder to his hip. He was wearing a black top hat that looked rather old and the bangs of his long grey hair covered half of his face so you couldn't see his eyes. Even though you thought you had seen something green peek through the bangs. "Good morning, darling", the man in front of you greeted you, giggling again, "Welcome to my place." He grinned at you like the cheshire cat himself and you were sure that he was up to no good.


End file.
